


Two Strays

by Ludovica



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovica/pseuds/Ludovica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were left to starve in the forest - but not all evil bears fruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Strays

There were voices all around them.

He didn’t understand most of the voices; the rustling of the trees and the scrub, the cries of crows and owls, the growling and creaking and howling of the forest around them, dark and thick and _cold_ , so different from the beautiful groves where they had lived before their father had become a king. And the voices he _did_ understand – he grabbed his brother’s hand as he went on, stumbling through the undergrowth. The men were gone, he told his brother, they were gone, they were alone, there was no danger, they were gone. But their voices were still there.

Their laughter.

He could faintly remember their father’s laughter. Their father had laughed all the time before he had become a king. He hadn’t known that kings didn’t laugh before they had come to this dark place, to the caves where the bad men had taken them from. The kings in the stories were strong, and wise, and beautiful. And their father was strong, and wise, and beautiful, even before he had been a king. But the stories never said that kings didn’t laugh.

There were many stories about forests, but he had forgotten them. He didn’t know where they were, or how long they had been there – they were in the forest still, but the whole world was a forest, and he couldn’t see the sun, and it was so cold… He stood still, because he was shivering so much, but his brother pulled his hand and pulled him forward. The men would get them if they stood still, he said. They were still there. He could hear their laughter.

His brother was shivering too, but he kept going, and he did the same, gripping his hand harder. As long as he was with his brother, everything was good. They had torn them out of the arms of their mother before they had pushed their mother to the ground, but they had taken them both, and as long as they were together, the voices couldn’t hurt them. They would run away, until the laughter would stop.

But it was so cold, and his feet hurt. He couldn’t help it, he started to cry, and he stood still again. His brother pulled his hand, his arm, told him to be quiet, to stop crying, _they would find them if he cried_. But he couldn’t stop. He wanted his mother, he wanted his father, he wanted Elwing, he wanted to go home, he wanted to go home to the groves and the waterfall where they had been born, where the beautiful woman had lived. _He wanted his mother so badly_ …

But his brother pulled his hand, and he stumbled after him. His hand hurt, his arm hurt, his feet hurt. He wanted his mother, but his brother pulled him on. There was another voice, suddenly, a voice he hadn’t heard before, and his brother pulled harder. He had heard it too, and they stumbled through the forest together, and he fell, but his brother pulled him up again, and the voice grew louder, louder, louder-

Until they stood on a glade, and they saw it, and its voice was all around them, so loud that it was all they could hear – no growling and no creaking and no howling and no laughter anymore, just the babbling of the waterfall in front of them.

But then there was another noise, and his brother pulled him behind one of the rocks next to the waterfall, and there they cowered, holding their breath as they heard laughter again – but a different kind of laughter, a bright laughter, like bells, like Elwing.

Then there was a face, a friendly face, with big brown eyes, and long, brown hair, and a voice that sounded nothing like the voices of the men.

And then there were long arms, and a warm cloak, and he started to cry again.

~*~

Melian was standing on the old quay, one of the last remnants of the Falmari who had once dwelled at this place before they had left for Alqualondë. There were ships on the sea, hundreds of ships, thousands maybe, beautiful silver and grey ships that were glinting in the light of Arien’s golden fire. The first few had already landed, and a warm, but strong wind allowed the rest to follow fast. There were dark-haired Elves on the ships, Sindar, her own people, so many faces she remembered, so many friends she had left when she had returned to Aman. Her heart was bursting with joy when she saw how they disembarked, how they looked around with curious and fearful glances. Many of Olwë’s and Arafinwë’s folk had come to greet them, and a large contingent of Ingwë’s folk too, and the three kings stood close to her on the quay.

Ingwë started to descend the steps that led down to the vast landing stage where the people pouring from the grey ships had started to gather. Melian was about to follow him, as Arafinwë and Olwë did, when suddenly a face in the growing crowd caught her attention, a face with large brown eyes and framed by a cascade of unbraided, long brown hair.

She smiled when she realized who she was looking at. Nellas had grown into a beautiful, strong young woman, taller than she had expected. She seemed to notice her glance, and she looked up, spotting Melian at the quay and shooting her a grin as blinding as the gleam of the Daystar; then she turned around to two male Elves behind her, two extraordinarily tall, dark-haired young men in simple brown breeches and green tunics.

Then they looked up to her, and Melian’s hand flew up to cover her mouth in surprise.

Out of two beautiful, identical faces, her daughter’s eyes were looking at her.


End file.
